Riley
by Kashtien James
Summary: Sloane left Mark with her baby. Callie left for Africa with Arizona. Now Riley Sloan is four years old, and everyone is returning. Complete as is.
1. Trouble Maker

**A/N: Shonda Rhimes owns every single thing. Aren't we all jealous of her? So, I've been wanting to do this for a while. Here goes.**

The small child tugged the hat from his tiny head, revealing bright blond hair. Mark was becoming frustrated, but he always managed to keep his calm. Okay, not _always, _but most of the time. Today, he would.

"I need you to be good today," he told his son, zipping up the boy's jacket, "No hitting anyone. No painting on anything but paper. And, listen to me closely, _no_ looking up Ms. Rivera's skirt. Daddy can't leave work to come and get you again today."

"I just wanna see what's up there." He was so adorable, Mark couldn't help but to break into a smirk.

"Well, you can't. Not until you're older."

"Do girls have boobs there, too?"

_Oh Lord. _

"No, Riley. They don't."

"Why do girls have boobs?" The skepticism in his voice made it obvious to Mark that Riley wasn't sure if the body part in question was a good thing or a terrible curse.

"Because they're girls. That's how they're made."

"Oh."

There. He seemed satisfied. _Please, no more questions,_ Mark silently prayed. The questions were probably the most difficult part of parenting. He loved being a dad, really. It was a challenge to be a single parent, but after four years of managing, he had most things down to the _T. _He couldn't imagine life without the four-year-old bundle of joy. Ever.

"How are babies made, anyway?"

"You know what, buddy? Bailey's gonna be here in just a minute to pick you up for school. Now put your hat on."

"Why do I have to wear a hat, Daddy?"

"'Cause I don't want your little melon getting cold." Mark slid the hat onto the tiny head for the third time that morning, successfully managing to hide every lock of the blond hair that mirrored Riley's mother's identically.

When Sloane had decided that adoption wasn't the best option for her baby, she'd moved in with Mark under the pretense of allowing him to help raise the baby. Callie had offered to help, and everything had gone according to plan. For all of eight days. Sloane hadn't even named her beautiful baby when she left. Just up and out in the middle of the night, leaving her father to wake up to her crying baby the next morning.

He didn't even have a name.

_Riley James Sloan. _Mark had decided in an hour. Riley after his birth mother, Sloane Riley. James because he loved the name. And Sloan, because he was going to raise the baby as a Sloan. As his son. With the help of Callie, of course.

That hadn't gone according to plan for very long, either. When Arizona had received her fellowship and moved to Africa, Callie was gone, leaving her best friend to raise his grandson on his own. Riley wasn't even a year old.

No one had actually expected Mark to step up to the plate as a parent. Everyone had thought he bound to fail, himself included.

But four years later, as his son stared up into his eyes with those huge blue hues, Mark knew he hadn't failed. Despite the biological objection, Riley was his son. Mark Sloan had managed to be a father for four years. Alone. The boy filled the void women had always left him with. The boy made him laugh and cry and live. The boy was his life.

Suddenly, his thoughts were broken by a small voice, "Daddy, why don't I have a mommy like Tuck and Ella and Georgia and Teddy and all the kids at school?"

_Uh oh. _That one was a sincere question.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Saved by the bell.

Mark stood and opened the door to see a smiling Bailey with the quiet Tucker by her side, clinging to her hand. In the last four years, the staff of Seattle Grace-Mercy West had developed a parenting family of sorts. They took turns babysitting, driving, and feeding all of the kids. Tucker Bailey was the eldest of the family, and then Riley. Next were Derek and Meredith's twin girls, at three, Ella and Georgia. Lastly, and the newest addition to the family, was Teddy Hunt.

Ironically, each of the five children was the namesake of someone else. Tucker after his father. Riley after his mother. Ella and Georgia after Ellis Grey and George O'Malley. Then, Theodore. Teddy, after Teddy Altman. Three weeks before Yang and Hunt had discovered their pregnancy, Teddy had signed on for another tour in Iraq. She died in an explosion a month before Teddy was born. The connections made the children a more active part in the hospital family.

"Alright. He had everything he needs. I have surgery scheduled for this afternoon, so Meredith offered to pick the boys up. Ella and Georgia have preschool, so she'll be there anyway."

"Fine with me," Bailey took Riley's backpack, ushering him out of the apartment, "Don't forget to check in on my post ops if I'm not there before you."

"Will do," Mark nodded, leaned down and kissed his son on the forehead, "I love you, buddy. Have a good day."

"Okay, Daddy. You too."

Waving, he closed the door to finish readying himself before he was running late.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, he had just come to the end of a partial facial reconstruction. Mark stood in the scrub room with Lexie Grey, congratulating her on her excellent work inside the operating room. Their flame had long ago died away, for reasons that only Mark knew. Well . . . Mark and one other person. One other person that would never let that little bit of information slip out.

"Excuse me, Dr. Sloan?" Turning to the face of a young female nurse, he immediately recognized the voice as that of Nancy's. She was a nurse. And he knew her name. And he had never even slept with her. It was a sad thing to be proud of, but Mark was proud of himself.

"It's your son's school. The principal called and requested that you go pick Riley up."

_Great._

"Did she give you any details?"

"No, Doctor. I'm sorry. I have Mrs. Quinlan holding on line three if you'd like to speak with her."

Dragging a hand through his thick hair, he made an instant and final decision, shaking his head from side to side, "That's alright. Tell her I'll be there in twenty."

"Yes, Doctor." With that, Nancy backed out of the small scrub room.

A bright smile appeared on Mark's face as he turned back to a worried looking Lexie, "Her name's Nancy. She's Nancy and I know that. She's Nancy and I know that and I haven't slept with her. Do you know what this means?"

Slowly, hesitantly, she shook her head with skepticism.

"I used to be a man whore, Grey. I used to only know the nurses names if I slept with them. Now, I know Nancy's name. I know her name. And I know it because I care. I'm not just some dirty, sexy sex toy anymore. I mean, I'm sexy. I'm just . . . he makes me a better man." Speaking of _him,_ Mark had said twenty minutes, "Check in on the patient when he wakes up. I have to go bail my son out of whatever he's in."

Before Lexie could say anything, he was out the door and headed to be a knight in shining armour. Not in the sense most would think, though.

The doors to Seattle Central Public Elementary School seemed small to Mark, but when he walked through them with Riley, they seemed huge. The boy had only been in school a few months, and he liked it. The problem was the fact that he was a trouble maker. Any trouble he could get into, he found and jumped on. This was the sixth phone call that had pulled Mark from work in just three months.

But he had most definitely been the same way at that age, and he'd turned out alright. Right?

Sure.

**A/N: Please review. Callie will come soon. Sloan will enter eventually as well. I'm looking forward to this story, so I hope someone else is too!**


	2. Surprises

**A/N: Everything belongs to Shonda Rhimes. Except Riley, of course. Don't forget to review! :D**

"Can I write my letter to Santa now?" Riley bounced up and down with impatience.

Mark, refusing to give in, reached across the living room carpet and placed a hand on his son's shoulder to stop the movement. "You can write your letter to Santa when you tell me why you kicked Tyler."

"Can I have cookies if I tell you why I kicked him?"

"After dinner."

With that answer, the child crossed his arms and set his face with determination. Mark could sit there all night. He had, once before, when Riley had stolen a chocolate bar and wouldn't admit to it. This was the drill: sit, talk, get answers. It usually worked quickly, but then there were these times. Half an hour had already ticked by on the clock.

In silence, they sat, for another thirty minutes. The little blond child rocking back and forth to occupy himself at times, while Mark repetitively ran over the surgery he had preformed that day. As far as his knowledge reached, he saw that the patient would wake up completely satisfied.

Finally, after a total of sixty minutes on the living room carpet, Riley broke. Mark had known the time was coming. The boy had to pee and couldn't hold it any longer, "I kicked Tyler because he likes Summer."

"Well that's no reason to kick someone. Everyone is entitled to having their favourite season, bud." That was not what he had been expecting. The boys were fighting over their favourite seasons? Something else was up. It had to be.

"Daddy, Summer is my girlfriend."

_Ohhhhhhhhh. _

That explained everything. "That's still no reason to kick him. If this Summer girl likes you, you shouldn't have to worry about if someone else likes her or not."

Why was he coaching his four year old on this?

"But she doesn't know that she's my girlfriend. So I don't want Tyler to tell her that she's his girlfriend."

The joys of being in kindergarten.

"Well, Ry, you have to ask her to be your girlfriend. And you need to apologize to Tyler."

Riley's words were now all mushed together in a quick chain so as to get his request out more quickly, "Okay, Daddy. Can I go pee now?"

"Go for it."

In less than a second, the child was on his feet and running for the bathroom.

Mark stood from the floor, contemplating what to make for dinner. He wasn't the best of cooks, but they didn't eat out every night. The choices that night were spaghetti with tomato sauce or sandwiches.

"Sandwiches or spaghetti?" he called out, his voice carrying through the bathroom door.

"Kraft Dinner!"

That wasn't one of the choices. "Sandwiches or spaghetti?" he tried again.

A groan preceded the voice's answer, "Spaghetti."

The toilet flushed. The door opened, and out came Riley with his zipper still undone.

"Go wash your hands and zip up," Mark told him as he placed the pot of water to boil on the stove top.

Again the child emerged a second later, hands dripping and zipper zipped. He headed for the television remote to find the batteries dead, as they had been the night before and the night before that and the night before that. Making a mental note to pick up some triple A's, Mark continued with dinner, silently watching his son fiddle with the buttons on the TV.

"We'll write your letter to Santa after dinner, okay?"

"Mhm," was the only reply he got. Riley was enveloped in some colourful children's show.

"What are you asking for this year?"

"A puppy. A yellow one."

_Wonderful. _"Puppies don't come in yellow."

A face popped up over the back of the couch, giving Mark look that could kill, "Yes they do. Mackenzie has a yellow lab- labradreer."

"Labrador?"

"Yeah! A yellow lab- Labrador. I want one of those."

"I'm not sure that Santa can bring one of those in his bag. The puppy might get hungry. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Well then you'll have to get me one."

Riley sat back down, content with watching his show. Apparently, that was the end of that conversation. Dinner was ready with perfect timing - right when the cartoon ended.

After eating the spaghetti and cookies for dessert, the two "men" sat down at the kitchen table with pencils and paper. The boy's writing was half backwards and change size forty times every line, but it was legible. Decent for a four year old, at the least. The boy asked for a puppy, a yellow one, five times, with other small things thrown in between. A Buzz Lightyear action figure, a new firetruck, and night-vision goggles. Those things, he could manage. A puppy, on the other hand, would grow into a dog, and Mark couldn't have a dog. He didn't have the time or the patience or the space.

But he couldn't say no to that face. He had a weakness for that adorable little face with that pouty little lip and those big blue eyes. When they had sealed the envelope and addressed it to Santa Claus, he couldn't restrain himself any longer.

"So what will you name your puppy?" tactfully, he through in as an afterthought, "If you get one, I mean."

"I don't know. Not spotty. That's a stupid name for a dog."

"Language, young man."

"Sorry. That's a _silly_ name for a dog," Riley corrected himself.

It wasn't that stupid was a bad word. It wasn't that it was any better than silly, either. Stupid, coming out of the mouth of a four-year-old, just sounded wrong. Dirty, in a completely un-dirty way.

The rest of the evening progressed quickly. The young Sloan was tucked into bed in his favourite pajamas and with his stuffed panda bear by eight o'clock sharp. It had been an eventful day, to say the least. And that was without mentioning all of the adult drama floating around the hospital.

Just as he was sitting down to settle in for a movie on the couch, there was a knock on the door. With a grunt of defeat, he abandoned his comfortable position on the furniture. The door was only steps away, but it took him at least thirty seconds to get there, with the knocking continuing at random intervals.

Mark didn't know who to be expecting, but there were people he wouldn't be surprised to see standing at his door and people that he would be surprised to see standing at his door. Owen, Derek, Cristina, Meredith, Bailey. They weren't people he would be overly surprised to find. Albert Einstein, George Bush, Michael Jackson, and . . .

Pulling open the thick door, he found one last person to put on the list of people who would surprise him with their presence.

Callie Torres.

**A/N: I hope that everyone is enjoying so far. Please review! **


	3. Here Again

**A/N: And . . . Shonda Rhimes still owns everything! Surprise! No. Probably not. :)**

_When Mark heard the gentle knocking on his apartment door, he quietly moved from the couch to the lock with speed. He knew who it was, and he knew that she probably would know better than to knock a second time. It wasn't worth the risk though. Riley had cried for twenty minutes solid before finally tiring himself out and crashing. _

_Mark was just becoming accustomed to having another person with him in the house all hours of the day, never mind having to be up all hours of the night and remembering what temperature to warm up what size of bottle. Everything was beginning to seem impossible. _

_The woman on the opposite side of the door greeted him with an expression that he couldn't discern. That worried him, because he could always tell what Callie Torres was thinking. _

"_What's the matter?" he had questioned before she could get a single word out._

"_Arizona's moving to Africa to help her little humans. She's going with or without me, but I can't let her go alone."_

"_You're leaving?" An instant sense of shock overtook him. He absolutely, positively, could _not _raise a baby by himself. Hell, he could barely manage to make Kraft Dinner by himself. But it wasn't just that. Callie couldn't leave. His best friend couldn't leave. His . . . she just couldn't leave._

"_I'm sorry Mark. I am so, so sorry. But I can't let the woman I love move to Africa without me."_

"_Neither can I!" He was desperate, and it took him a moment to realize what he had just told her. _

_Shit._

_They stood in silence for a long moment. Both of them slowly registering what he had just admitted. Mark hadn't intended to tell her that. Ever. He'd known it for longer than he could remember, but he wouldn't take the chance of endangering their friendship. It was far from worth it._

"_I'm . . . I'm a lesbian." That was how she broke the moment?_

"_You're bisexual. There's a difference."_

"_I . . . I like women, Mark. You're far from having a vagina."_

_This wasn't going as planned._

_Without the slightest hint of warning, Mark took a step forward and closed the distance between their bodies, capturing Callie's face between his hands. He crushed her lips with his own. It wasn't a violent kiss, though. It was a pleading kiss. It was a kiss that said so many unsaid things and begged for everything that he couldn't ask with words. _

_Eyes closed and lips quivering, she pulled from his grasp, shaking her head. "Mark . . . I - we can't. I'm leaving tomorrow morning." _

_Despite her objections, he was clear on the fact that she kissed him back. "Give me one night. Just one."_

"_One night," she repeated. It couldn't hurt anything, right?_

_Nodding, Mark pushed the door to his apartment closed as Callie found the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head._

He had truly believed that one night couldn't hurt anything at the time. It hadn't, exactly, hurt anything. But that one night had most definitely done damage. Damage to their friendship. Damage to her relationship. Damage to him.

And now, as he stood in shock with her before him, he couldn't separate all of the emotions tangled within. He was hurt and happy and angry and broken all at the same time. His voice wouldn't work. His words were caught in his chest along with his pounding heart.

"You're . . . _here._" he finally managed to stammer.

"I didn't know where else to go."

"I mean _here_. In Seattle."

Callie nodded, slowly taking all of him in. In the last three years, he hadn't changed much at all. Maybe a few barely noticeable lines had popped up around his eyes and mouth, but nothing to be concerned about. He was still well built, if not even more so than he had been before. She liked to think that she hadn't changed much either. In Africa, it had been easier to maintain her hair when it was shorter, so she'd kept it that way. Her skin was probably a shade darker, but nothing had really drastic.

"Arizona and I broke up five months ago. I tried to keep working with her, but I couldn't."

Oh.

"You never called. You never wrote. You didn't send me one goddamn email, Callie. Now you show up at my door expecting what? A place to stay? A good night? I have a son. I have a four-year-old son and you can't walk in and out of here complicating my life and his."

"I'm not expecting anything. I thought that I could show up at a friend's door and catch up or . . . or _something_."

"Well you-"

"Daddy, she's pretty." Mark turned to see his little boy examining their visitor. Riley evidently hadn't been asleep yet, or had been awoken by the noisy adults.

When nobody objected to his doing so, the child moved up beside his father and looked up to Callie with familiar blue eyes, "I'm Riley, who are you?"

"My name's Callie. And you're pretty cute, yourself."

"I have a girlfriend."

"Oh?"

"But my Daddy doesn't. You can come in and have some juice or some water or some milk, maybe." He took the stranger by the hand and pulled her through the door as Mark stood back and watched. It was quickly becoming obvious who the man of the house was.

Swooping in to make things right again, Daddy took Riley by the waist and hoisted him up into his arms, "Why aren't you in bed, Mister?"

"You forgetted to turn on my night light." The statement came out so matter-of-factly that Mark couldn't be bothered to correct the grammatical mistake.

"Alright. Let's get you back in bed, then."

"Goodnight, Callie," the Little Sloan waved as he was carried away.

Mark emerged from the bedroom moments later to find Callie sitting on his couch. Before he could say anything, she was rambling on, "I got my job back at the hospital. I just need a place to stay for a little while. If you don't want me here, I can stay with Alex or Cristina or someone. I don't know why I came here. Look, I'll just go. I can see you've got your hands full and . . . I'll just go."

She was getting up from the couch, moving to the door. Mark's train of thought finally caught up with the situation and he intercepted her course, blocking her from the door. "Stay," he told her, "I overreacted. I've spent the last three years waiting for . . . _something_, and if this is it, I'll take it."

"You don't have to do this out of pity. Clearly, you're angry."

"Of course I'm angry. My best friend left for Africa with her girlfriend after I told her I loved her and then she never contacted me. You can't expect me to be happy about that."

"I thought that if I let go it would be easier."

"You were wrong."

Callie stayed. They talked nearly all night, catching up on their lives and the lives of those around them. This new, grown up Mark was hard to get used to, but she liked it. He was a dad. He was a mature, fatherly man. When she finally fell asleep on the couch, he covered her and slept in his own bed, one small fact lingering in his thoughts.

He still loved her.

Alright, maybe it wasn't so small after all.

**A/N: Please review! Love to hear the feedback. :D **


	4. Lucky Charms

**A/N: So sorry for the HUGE delay. Christmas was crazy, as always. And, I've said it before, I'll say it again: I'm fifteen. I have to clean my room before I can jump on the computer. -_- Welcome to my life. Anyway, it all belongs to Shonda. **

Callie's eyes fluttered open in the darkness of an apartment, and for a second, she couldn't remember where exactly she was. And then it all came rushing back like a nightmare, except good. Screaming at Arizona, packing her bags, jumping on a plane, and showing up at Mark's door.

As her sight became less hazy, she clearly saw the white ceiling above. Suddenly, she jumped to a sitting position, and then felt extremely stupid for acting so foolishly. It was only a little blond boy. Mark's little blond boy. _Riley_.

"Why are you sleeping on my couch?" he tilted his head to one side, probably examining her messy hair and smeared mascara, she was sure.

"Because it looked more comfortable than the floor, silly." Reaching forward, she tousled his hair and was in return given a giggle.

"It _is_ more comfy than the floor."

"So I made a good choice." _Probably the first of my life, _she thought. "What time is it?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Daddy went to get milk for the Lucky Charms. He said not to wake you up and to just watch the TV, but you're on my couch."

Scooting over, Callie made a very spacious area for his tiny body, "Sorry. Wait - you're dad just left you here alone?"

"No. He left me with you."

_Oh. Yeah. _

The boy suddenly looked worried, "Don't tell Daddy I woke you up. Please?"

His _"Please?"_ sounded more like,_ "Pweeze?" _Callie couldn't tell the poor child that she would. And there was no reason for her to, anyway. It was funny to see that a child would actually have a fear of Mark Sloan, though. Maybe it wasn't fear. Respect seemed more reasonable.

"Okay, you're secret is safe with me."

He let out a little breath of air that Callie hadn't even realized he had been holding. It was really astonishing, when she saw him more closely. The resemblance that he held to his grandfather. Nobody would ever second guess the fact that Mark was the boy's dad. There was no reason to. Riley looked even more like a Sloan than Sloane had.

"Did you wake Callie up, little man?" Mark's voice came after the sound of the apartment door opening.

The child shook his head wildly from side to side, shooting his new found friend a look of confirmation. She smiled and came to the rescue, "No. I heard the door close when you left," she lied.

"Sorry. I meant to let you sleep in. We're usually up pretty early around here."

"What time is it?" She questioned for the second time that morning, hoping that this Sloan would be able to supply her with an answer.

"It's a quarter after five."

"It's Saturday!"

"It's my day off, yes, but I take care of Georgia, Ella, and Teddy today. Every second Saturday I have Tuck, too."

"Excuse me?"

Right. Callie hadn't kept in contact with anyone, apparently. "Meredith and Derek, Owen and Cristina, Bailey, and I, take shifts with the kids. At least one of us is usually off, so it works." Mark explained, moving to the kitchen and pouring Lucky Charms then adding the milk he had purchased.

"Oh. Teddy?"

"Theodore."

"After Teddy, though? Owen and Cristina named their baby after Teddy?"

"She's dead." In that moment, he was grateful for the fact that his back was to Callie. He and Teddy had become close before she left. As friends, of course. Her death was a sore subject.

"Oh . . . I'm, uh, sorry."

Subject change, Mark decided. "Lucky Charms?"

"Is that all you have?" Callie teased.

"No. But it's the only good kind."

"Lucky Charms it is."

At a quarter to six, Owen knocked on the door with Teddy in his arms and Ella holding one hand as Georgia jumped around with her legs crossed on the opposite side.

"I have to pee, Uncle Mark!" she screeched before bolting past him and into the bathroom.

"She wouldn't go before we left," Owen explained.

Of course not. Did they ever?

"Who's picking up tonight?"

Laughing, Owen shrugged, "Whoever shows up, I guess. Nobody told me." He handed his son over to Mark, who had over the years become his friend.

"Alright. Thanks man."

"Thank you."

Now the only one to pass off was Ella. For some reason, she had a strong attachment to her Uncle Owen, and making her part ways with him was always hell.

Both of the men knew this, and both were prepared for disaster. "Are you gonna come in and play, Ella?" Mark coaxed, subconsciously knowing that his effort was useless.

"No. I'm staying with Uncle Owen." The child was determined, as always. There would be no winning.

"I've got some yummy Lucky Charms inside."

"No."

The adults exchanged a look and Mark reached in for the child under the arms. Owen detached his hand from the girl's and there as immediate turmoil. Ella began kicking and screaming, thrashing at Mark.

He enclosed the girl in a tight embrace to restrain her, but her high-pitched screaming continued. Owen nodded and turned to go, but before the door had closed, he was sure that he had heard a familiar female voice from inside.

Callie Torres.

Back in the apartment, the kids ate a breakfast of Lucky Charms, with the exception of Teddy who had baby cereal. Mark was practiced in the taming and feeding of children by now. He would consider himself a near expert in those departments.

After they ate, the older three children sat in to watch Home Alone. Teddy played with some toys on the floor. Callie had to run to the hospital to discuss a few things with the Chief. Mark found himself with time to think.

Too much time, maybe.

Having Callie within his reach after so long was driving him crazy. One of his biggest fears had always been that he would never fall out of love with her, and having her live with him wasn't about to help that. The truth was that she hadn't ever felt the same way he had. She hadn't ever wanted anything but sex and conversation. Maybe she hadn't even wanted the sex. Sometimes you take the package and only want part of it.

The phone rang. Mark picked it up without looking at the number, "Hello?"

"Sloan, we need you in here ASAP."

"Hunt? You know I've got the kids. You can't expect me to find a sitter for four kids in ten minutes."

"Torres is there, isn't she? I'm sure she's capable of watching the rugrats for a few hours. There was a three car pileup and we have it all. We need you in here, now."

"Torres? How did you . . . You didn't even come in the apartment! How many people have you told? This isn't public information, Owen."

Suddenly Mark was alert, despising the man on the opposite end of the line for whatever he might have done.

"Calm down, man. I'm not you. I don't take pleasure in gossip. Just . . . get in here and the secret is safe, alright?"

"That's blackmail!"

"It's for a good cause."

As soon as he had a dial tone, he was dialing Callie's cell number, with the hope that it hadn't changed in the few years she had fallen off the face of his earth.

"Mark? I haven't been gone for an hour. What do you want?"

Not exactly the sweet greeting he had been looking forward to.

"You need money?" He asked, in exactly the same tone.

"What kind of question is that?" A revelation, "No. Mark, I am _not _going to sleep with you for cash. Out of the question."

His shoulders slumped as he picked a rattle off of the floor and shook it. "I need you to watch the kids for me. I'll give you twenty dollars an hour."

Interest spiked her tone, "When?"

"Now."

"Right now?"

"I have to run in to the hospital. There was some kind of accident and I'm the only good plastics guy in Seattle."

"Alright. I'll be there in ten."

It was only after he had hung up the phone that Mark realized he had just signed four children over to Callie. It wasn't that he didn't trust her . . . it was that he didn't trust them.

**A/N: Hopefully the updates will be quicker from now on :D Please review. Suggestions are welcome!**


	5. Baby Powder and Kraft Dinner

**A/N: I know, it's been forever. I've had a writer's block with this story, especially with the whole timing thing. Christmas is soon for Riley, but just ended for us. That wasn't how I planned it. Anyway, hope everyone will still enjoy. I own nothing . . . except Riley. :D**

"You don't have any kids of your own, do you?"

Callie looked over at the child sitting next to her, his eyes holding the same skepticism that his question had. She shook her head from side to side, "How could you tell."

"Well," he shifted on the couch, then shrugged lightly, as if it were nothing, "You're not a very good babysitter." She probably would have knocked him out had he not been four, and so utterly adorable. Callie didn't take criticism very well, not matter how constructive it happened to be.

"And . . . ," his tiny voice caught her attention once again, "you're messy. You have spit-up on your shirt," he pointed a single finger just above her left breast, "and macaroni in your hair."

She ran a hand through her disheveled hair to find a clump of macaroni, cold and sticky, resistant to coming out. It had be quite the rough day.

_x_

Mark and her barely exchanged two words when he left and she walked in. Apparently, Riley knew where to find everything. If not, his cell phone was on.

For twenty dollars an hour, it was going to be an easy job. Teddy would what? Eat, sleep, and get changed. The twins were probably easy enough. And Riley was a piece of cake.

The first hour and a half went fairly well. Then, as she was playing with Georgia (or was it Ella?) and Riley on the living room floor with a game that seemed to have no purpose whatsoever, she smelt something that could only be identified as one of two things: baby poop or a sewer. She assumed that it wasn't a sewer, which meant that it was time to change baby Teddy's diaper.

Joy.

First, Callie plugged her nose with small pieces of a cotton ball. Then slowly, at arms' length, she opened the diaper. The smelly, brown baby poop had managed to leak through the diaper and spread up Teddy's back. It would be a waste of time to try and use wipes, she decided, so she would through him in the bath and wash him down quickly. Not too hard, right?

Sure.

The phone was ringing, so Callie wrapped the baby in a towel, which started the screaming. Apparently, he didn't think that he was finished playing. But that was only the beginning.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, she saw that there was a trail of white dust leading from the bedroom to the living room. Following the tiny footsteps that pattered through the powder, she found Ella (or maybe Georgia?) dancing around the living room with an open bottle of baby powder, which was flying around everywhere. Her twin sister was sitting amid the dust, wiping it over her arms as if it were sunblock.

Riley sat on the couch watching a cartoon, oblivious to the turmoil around him.

Picking the phone off of the arm of the couch, she answered without checking the caller identification.

"You've won a trip for two to the Caribbean. In order to receive your prize, di-" she hung up. If only it were true.

Swooping in to snatch the baby powder, she successfully caused another one of the children to start crying at the top of their lungs. When she turned around, she saw that Georgia (or Ella?) was now eating the "sunblock".

"Georgia, that stuff is bad for you. Stop eating it, sweetie," she tried her calm, motherly tone, but it was barely heard above the two screaming kids.

Or so she thought.

Georgia, who was evidently not Georgia, stood up with her fists clenched, and at the top of her lungs began to yell, "My name is not Georgia! My name is not Georgia! My name is not Georgia! My name is not Georgia! My name is not Georgia! My name is not Georgia!" She continued for two minutes straight. Callie got the point. The one eating powder was Ella. The one throwing powder was Georgia. It only needed to be said once.

And it was all downhill from there.

_x_

Now, Callie sat on the couch with Riley, who had spent most of his day in that exact spot. Meredith had dropped by to pick up the girls and Teddy a half hour earlier. Her surprise at seeing Callie was dulled by her children's joy in seeing her.

It had definitely not been worth twenty dollars an hour.

The house that surrounded them looked as if it had been hit by a tornado. Or a hurricane. Or a tsunami. Or all of them put together and multiplied in force by ten.

The innocent little blond Sloan shook his head and simply stated, "I don't think you should babysit us again."

"Neither do I," she agreed.

"I like you. But Ella and Georgia and Teddy don't, I think. Actually, I think they really don't like you."

Callie shook her head from one side to the other, exhaustion written all over her face, "I don't think they like me either."

Somehow, someway, she could manage to build bones. She could operate a clinic in the middle of Africa with next to no resources. She could up and leave for three years, return, and still have her job. She was freaking Wonder Woman. Yet she couldn't handle twins and a baby for a day. Because, really, Riley hadn't caused an ounce of trouble all day.

_x_

It was past eleven o'clock when Mark opened the door to his apartment. The first thing that he noticed was that it smelt overwhelmingly like baby powder. The second thing that he noticed, almost immediately, was the mess. White dust coated half of the flat surfaces in the house. Kraft Dinner was spread across the table and floor. Toys everywhere. And, on the couch, both sleeping soundly, Callie and Riley.

God, he really was the stupidest man in the world for not fighting harder for her. Rather than asking for one night, he should have asked for a lifetime.

He watched them sleeping for a minute before stepping in and scooping Riley up to bring him to his own bed. Callie stirred, rubbed her eyes, and sat up. Taking in her surroundings, her expression suddenly changed. She'd fallen asleep before cleaning the house. "Oh my God! Mark, I am so sorry. I promise you, I will clean everything up."

Shaking his head, Mark whispered, "Don't worry about it. Grab a shower. I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?" A shower sounded nice.

"I'm positive. We'll talk when you get out."

She flashed him a half grin. God, he was a lifesaver.

The water began running while Mark took his son to bed. As he was changing the boy into pajamas, he came to with a smile on his lips, "I had to babysit Callie today."

"You did, eh, little man?"

He bobbed his little blond head, his blue eyes widening, "Yup. And she burned the macaroni. Two times!"

Mark laughed. All in all, it seemed to have been a good day for everyone.

**A/N: Review, please? Sloane will be making her appearance in a very near chapter. :)**


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